


I Can't Touch What I Can't See

by PalBuddyBucky



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, M/M, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalBuddyBucky/pseuds/PalBuddyBucky
Summary: Steve doesn't even actually see Bucky, most of the time. He tells himself this when the guilt starts to creep up.A flash of familiar eyes, footsteps around his quarters that are too heavy to be Bucky’s and yet still are, they must be. Must be, but can't be. They can't be counted.





	I Can't Touch What I Can't See

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I haven't read any marvel fics for a while now but I found this sitting in my Docs from about a year ago. I don't think this is where I originally intended to end it, but upon review I think preserving it the way I left it adds to it's value.

Steve opens his eyes. The light is too bright, but he doesn't close them. Everything smells too clean. 

Someone is sitting in a chair by his bed.

His last memory, what feels like moments ago, is the cold of the ice finally giving away to a muted warmth. A comforting warmth, because it meant that it was finally over.

Where is the ice?

He turns his head to the left slightly, and sees Bucky sitting there.

Bucky doesn't move.

Steve tilts his head back to how he was before and closes his eyes. His faith had been shaken up after his mother died, but really, he thinks. He's not sure whether this is Heaven or Hell, but he figures God could have done a much better job either way.

___

The next time he opens his eyes, Bucky's not there.

“Where am I?” Steve demands of the woman. Really, all he want to ask is _where is he? What have you done with him?_

“...I'll ask you again, where am I?”

___

Once his clearance is secured, one of the first things he does is find Bucky’s file. It's surprisingly easy to access, all he has to do is ask Maria Hill and she tells him where to look. Maybe it's the Captain America thing, or maybe they really are normally this transparent. 

He has a feeling that the Captain America thing means even more than it did a week ago. Or, as it was, 70 years ago. Steve could swear he never got this many stares before. Hell, it's like he's a movie star and not a Captain. 

___

Steve doesn't even actually see Bucky, most of the time. He tells himself this when the guilt starts to creep up. 

A flash of familiar eyes, footsteps around his quarters that are too heavy to be Bucky’s and yet still are, they must be. Must be, but can't be. They can't be counted.

His voice doesn't really bother Steve. The almost continuous stream of babble, his voice forming the syllables of conversations Steve has long forgotten.

It's almost nice to have his company.

There are times when he does see him, though. Little flashes, and then the big ones.

The little ones are easy to dismiss. Tricks of the mind. 

Like Bucky’s face being the first he sees in the reflection of the vending machine, before it fades into Natasha, smacking her gum. Bucky's face on a random man he as he passes him in the street. 

___

“I'm not going to tell them.” Steve says. To himself, to… Bucky, he's not sure.

He doesn't bother looking at Bucky; he knows he's shrouded in shadow in the corner. Steve feels like he can sense his gaze, but he doesn't trust himself to know these things anymore.

Bucky mumbles something. Steve doesn't recognize the language. Bucky’s voice is hoarse, probably from disuse. It reminds Steve of one time bucky had sat outside in the freezing temperature of a Brooklyn winter night so that Steve wouldn't hack up a lung while he'd gone through half the pack of smokes he had bummed from who knows where. It was cold, sure, and Bucky's voice had been off for days, but Steve, at the very least, had gone and survived much colder. 

Steve swallows thickly. “I don't know what this means, Buck.”

“I know.” His voice is clearer than ever. He slinks along the shadows by the wall, making his way to the door. “Same way I know who you are, and who I was.” 

He turns around once before leaving. It's the most Steve’s seen of his face in decades, or months, the window behind Steve allowing dim moonlight to wash over him. It's not enough. But it's clear, when he says, “I know. These memories aren't mine.”

None of this is enough.

___

“Oh, stop fucking complaining.” the Soldier hisses at Steve, swing to face him. “You didn't get your precious Bucky back, but you're getting more than you deserve.”

He picks up on the way that makes Steve flinch, though he tries so desperately to hide it. “That what you need to hear, then? You don't deserve to see me, to hear his voice?” He comes to stand right in front of Steve, holding his body in a way Bucky never would have.

Steve holds eye contact unwaveringly, and the Soldier sneers. “You let him fall, Stevie. Stevie, right? That's what he used to call you. Before you let him die.” He steps even closer, his face just a breath away from Steve’s. “He would have died for you. I can feel it. And he almost did. But no, that wasn't good enough, was it?” he seems to be asking himself the question. “No, it wasn't.”

The Soldier spreads his arms, the meaning of the gesture negated by the lack of space between them. “So are you happy now, Stevie?” He grins maliciously, and let's his hands fall. “You're buddy's back. Isn't this all you wanted?” 

They stand there, toe to toe, in silence. Steve’s sure the Soldier is listening to the irregularity of his breathing, though when he strains his ear he finds he can't hear the Soldier’s.

His tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth, and it feels strange to speak.

“I wish he had died.” 

Though he didn't react, it wasn't quiet enough that the Soldier didn't hear it. These days, no reaction is a reaction.

“I wish you had died,” Steve says, even lower this time. “because it would have been a kindness.”

Steve wants to grab the Soldier’s shoulders and shake him and shake him and shake him until something happens, but he's scared away by the thought that if he reaches out there might not be anything there.

“Bucky deserved,” Steve continues because fuck, no one is stopping him. “to live a long life with whoever he wanted. To have kids. Grandkids. To die with them all around his bedside. He deserved,” fuck, his voice cracks on the last syllable. The Soldier remains unmoved. 

Steve continues. “He didn't get any of that, though. He got a shitty life in a shitty war with me, and he made due. I wish he… on the day he fell, I wish he died. Because my Bucky-” his voice is stronger now, filled with confidence. “He might have been willing to die for me, but my Bucky would also rather have died then become what you are, right here, right now.” 

The Soldier steps back, uncharacteristically seeming to shrink in on himself. Steve himself can't bring himself to move. In a voice Steve would like to believe is a lot like Bucky’s, the Soldier says, “The pain didn't start after he fell.”

When it becomes apparent that Steve isn't gonna respond to that, the Soldier rephrases. “Your pal was captured by the fucking Nazis and tortured and experimented on by Zola. Why don't-” he pauses for a moment. “Why don't you wish he'd died before that?”

Steve swallows harshly, and steps back as if to leave. “Because as much as like to pretend I'm not,” he says, his voice sounding so tired. “I'm one hell of a selfish bastard.” 

He turns away. When he looks back, the Soldier is gone.

___

“I don't know you.” Bucky tells him.

“You will,” Steve is quick to assure him. “Give it time, you will. We'll help you remember.” 

“No!” Bucky says, just short of yelling. He glares at Steve, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “I remember you. I don't know you.” he steps closer, and pokes Steve's chest with each word. “I. Don't. Know. You.”

Steve stares at him, mouth slightly agape. “I- I don't-”

“You don't.” Bucky repeats, harshly. “You don't know me, I don't know you.” His voice drops, almost to a whisper. “Those kids in Brooklyn, Rogers. We're not them. I know that Steve, you know that Bucky. That's not us anymore. We're not them.” 

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but- he can't. He can't look at Bucky and tell him you're the same man when his Bucky would have done anything to avoid this future, he can't say I'm the same Steve when he doesn't know if his Ma would even recognize him anymore. He can't.

“Alright, we're not them.” He agrees, finally. “We're not them.”

But god, he wishes they were.

**Author's Note:**

> When I started writing this I wanted to make it clear that Steve doesn't know if Bucky is really there on each occasion, or if it's simply his mind fooling him. The reader doesn't know. Hell, I don't even know. 
> 
> I had originally intended a happy resolution, setting them on the long path of healing and whatnot. I might feel tempted to revisit this in the future and write a sequel, but for now I guess this is how it stands.


End file.
